


Church

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks
Genre: Depression, Graphic Description, M/M, Mental Illness, Self Harm, brallon, church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 06:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13452120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Over the past month, Dallon’s “twisted fucking games” were becoming a regular occurrence. Almost every night, he’d retreat from the covers and hide somewhere in the house. Brendon was almost certain that he had a sixth sense, but also considered that it could be the sudden absence of the warmth that was once there that awakened him. Brendon was far too sensitive to the cold and it made him question his love for the man that he was originally infatuated with.As he continued through the house, he started to run faster and realised that maybe it was the one night where he wouldn’t be able to find him.(Inspired by the music video for Fall Out Boy - Church)





	Church

Brendon jolted awake, only to find empty sheets beside him. _Not again_ , he stressed. He sat up, sighed and threw his legs over the side of the bed, landing on his feet.

 

“Dallon,” he called out to the house. Silence bounced off of the white walls. “ _Dallon,”_ he repeated in a sing song voice, hiding his desperation. “Dallon.” More silence. “I’m fucking _tired_ of this Dallon! Stop getting up in the middle of the _fucking_ night and hiding. I’m not playing your _twisted_ fucking games anymore.” – That was a lie; Brendon realised once he spoke that he was feeding into Dallon’s insanity.

 

Over the past month, Dallon’s “twisted fucking games” were becoming a regular occurrence. Almost every night, he’d retreat from the covers and hide somewhere in the house. Brendon was almost certain that he had a sixth sense, but also considered that it could be the sudden absence of the warmth that was once there that awakened him. Brendon was far too sensitive to the cold and it made him question his love for the man that he was originally infatuated with.

 

Brendon’s shoulders were slumped and his hand was coursing through his hair as he half-heartedly ran around the house to check all the rooms. He knew in that situation, the morally right thing to do would be to rush in search of his absent lover, however, as the days passed, he felt less and less obliged to panic. Still, had intense feelings for Dallon that could be found in the depths of his heart and he knew the love was there on both sides. Brendon reassured himself that the charming man simply had a messy head.

 

As he continued through the house, he started to run faster and realised that maybe it was the one night where he wouldn’t be able to find him.

 

“I surrender.” He fell to his knees in the living room, catching his breath. “Dallon, if you don’t come out now, I’m fucking leaving. I’ll walk out that door. I won’t come back all night. I’ll leave you here. I’ll fucking leave you. Hell, I might never come back if I find a good enough guy.” Brendon didn’t have any plans on going out at four in the morning to find some guy to fuck to get over his insane boyfriend, but he really did slip on his coat and shoes after he received no reply.

 

He pulled his keys out of his coat pocket, locked up the house and unlocked his car. Sat on the edge of the driver’s seat, he pulled at his hair and shook his head like a mad man. _Who’s the bigger mad man here? Me or him?_ He asked in his head. He threw his head back, took a sharp breath and proceeded to start the engine.

 

Driving slowly down the desolate street, his headlights lit up the fog of the bitter air. With time, Brendon’s suspicions grew as to whether Dallon might have gone all-out this time and hid somewhere in the depths of the night, rather than their warm home. Down the road was a church – the nearest place to them other than a house. He parked his car and headed to the back of the building. Lit by a purple neon light; darkened by the graves surrounding.

 

Brendon stiffened his posture and buttoned up his coat as he continued to slowly walk closer to the violet light. With every stride, he breathed out a purple cloud and inhaled it straight back in before moving another step further.

 

The shadow of a man was revealed on the wall in front of him. Brendon turned the corner and gasped. Another violet light aided him to see _exactly_ what the man was doing. Blood was dribbling from a kitchen knife. It was from his kitchen. The hand holding the knife continued to shake just above the other wrist and returned to slice the skin. Brendon tried to muster, “Stop,” but it ended up as an inaudible whisper. The man continued to cut, forcing blood to ooze from his wrists. Brendon continued to splutter, “St-st-st-STOP, please, oh my _God!_ ”

 

The man looked up. “Hey, don’t blaspheme right outside a church.” He looked Brendon straight in the eye; the contact was cutting for Brendon. It felt as though the disease of Dallon’s pain was now spreading to him.

 

“Dallon, what the _fuck_ are you doing? _God no_ ,” he cried.

 

“Hey! What did I say?”

 

“Dallon, you’re cutting yourself outside a church.” With the realisation of the harsh reality coming from his words, Brendon’s body froze and all he could do was stare at the man in front of him. Dallon looked back down, shrugged and went to cut again. “STOP!” Brendon managed to blurt out. He sat down in front of Dallon and snatched the knife off of him. “Why?” he whispered. “Dall, what’s going _on_?”

 

There was a long silence in which Brendon fidgeted and ran his fingers through his hair, meanwhile Dallon considered his words. Finally, he spoke in a soft, quiet voice, “Well, I believe I came out here to cut myself and you followed me,” he sighed.

 

“Why?” Brendon bit his lip and looked into Dallon’s eyes that were reflecting the purple. Despite the absurdity, in that very moment, he thought about how they looked like beautiful aubergine dreams.

 

“I… I’m fucked in the head,” he confessed.

 

Brendon hesitated. “What makes you say that?” he finally asked.

 

Dallon ignored the question. Instead, he sat up against the white walls that were dripping with dried white clumps – they were far too over-painted. “Come sit.” He tapped the dirty floor with his hand. Brendon noticed the black residue of dried blood in the mans fingernails and stared. After a few seconds, he snapped out of the trance and sat beside him.

 

As the two of them looked off into the seemingly endless graveyard in front of them, they allowed silence to envelop them. It was only at this point that Brendon noticed the wind smacking his cheeks; it was painful and left his face stinging. His mind was so preoccupied before, but now he seemed to be letting the panic free through his slow exhales. The somewhat tranquillity didn’t, however, remove the lingering stench of unspoken questions.

 

“Can I hold your hand?” Brendon dumped off the first question from his conscience.

 

Dallon wrapped his fingers into Brendon’s and gave him a sense of connection after a long night of feeling otherwise. The ripped rope between them was now beginning repair.

 

“Please talk to me, Dallon.” Brendon sounded so small and it was partly intentional.

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologised for the first time.

 

“Do you love me?” Brendon asked. They both turned their heads to look at each other. It was gut-wrenching; however, Brendon couldn’t bring himself look away. Dallon nodded. Brendon then proceeded to ask, “So, tell me, why did you do it?” He swallowed once he finished.

 

“It’s like you bleed glitter, Brendon. Your life is one glossy grand piano. Damn right, you’re beautiful, but you don’t see the darkness and I don’t understand it. I seriously can’t wrap my head around it. I know I’m acting out. Fuck, I’ve been getting up in the middle of the night to cut myself, but you _follow_ me. You think it’s a game, but it’s so far from that. I’m _hurting_.”

 

“I didn’t know you were hurting,” Brendon said quietly. “ _God_ , look I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes.

 

“I already told you to stop with the blasphemy,” Dallon mumbled.

 

“Dallon, not to be rude, but shut the _fucking_ fuck up. This is serious.”

 

Dallon sighed, “Whatever.”

 

“Okay, for starters, I actually understand what you’re going through, but how am I supposed to help if you don’t talk to me? You need to speak up about how you’re feeling.” Brendon always had a way of turning his words into pink little pieces of candy. He had a dirty mouth, considering his swearing, but everything that came out of it seemed so bitterly sweet. Dallon would always say that if he was to thoroughly inspect and analyse Brendon’s word vomit, all he’d be able to find would be rainbows and glitter dust.

 

“Brendon… I don’t know _how_ to do that…” Dallon admitted.

 

Brendon bit his lip and figured out what to say next. “Well, I’m giving you the opportunity right now. I’m trying to make this as easy as I can for you, okay? Just tell me what’s going on. Here, I’ll help… What are you thinking right before you cut yourself?”

 

“Existential shit.” Dallon shook his head.

 

Brendon’s eyebrows furrowed just above his glassy eyes. “And is that what makes you cut yourself?”

 

Dallon nodded.

 

“How do you feel about waking me up when you feel like that?” Brendon suggested.

 

“Um… In case you haven’t noticed, I get up in the middle of the night a _lot.”_ Reminders of all those nights flooded Brendon’s mind, meanwhile water pooled at the bottom of his eyelids. He blinked twice and the tears started to trickle down his face. Dallon glanced at the wet face of the sad boy beside him and felt guilt kick him in the stomach.

 

Brendon sniffed and wiped his face. He regained his composure by drawing in a deep breath - cold and soothing to his aching, fiery chest. “Well, I’d rather you wake me up than have you cut yourself or be alone and hurting. Dall, you’ve got to understand that this is really hurting me too. I want you to be okay.”

 

Dallon gulped and nodded. “I understand. And you know what? For once, my stubborn ass is sorry. That’s when you _know_ I mean it.” They both shared a small, relieving laugh.

 

Soon after, silence fell upon them again.

 

“Dall…” Brendon began, “You need to see a doctor.”

 

“I know. I’ll book an appointment tomorrow.” Dallon knew that going would put Brendon at ease and he also deep down knew that it would put him at ease, too. It’d been gnawing at his brain, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it alone; he needed somebody or something to push him into it. Brendon and the night’s affair were his starting medicine.

 

“Thank you,” Brendon sighed. “You’ll thank yourself, too.”

 

“I know,” Dallon said and pursed his lips, drawing Brendon’s attention to them.

 

Brendon looked back into Dallon’s eyes. “Hey, I love you,” Brendon said and returned his gaze to Dallon’s lips. They both leaned in. Brendon wrapped his arm around Dallon’s lower back; Dallon held the back of Brendon’s head with his fingers laced through his thick brown hair. They locked lips. Dallon pulled on Brendon’s bottom lip between his, and let his tongue softly touch the inside of Brendon’s lip. They continued to move lips slowly together and their noses brushed with a ghost touch. They both tilted their foreheads together and Brendon whispered against Dallon’s lips, “I fucking love you.”


End file.
